


Pretty Girls Have Thorns

by TheCourier



Series: to be alive [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Light Angst, Light Bondage, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 09:13:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15627492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCourier/pseuds/TheCourier
Summary: “You look lovely, Sansa, there is no need to feel ashamed.” Margaery’s breath felt hot on her ear, a whisper that tickled. She nipped at her earlobe, softly, with only the barest graze of teeth.Margaery and Sansa experiment.





	Pretty Girls Have Thorns

“Some girls like pretty girls.”

Sometimes, Margaery’s words, said so lightly what felt like years ago, still echoed in Sansa’s mind. She blushed.

“You look lovely, Sansa, there is no need to feel ashamed.” Margaery’s breath felt hot on her ear, a whisper that tickled. She nipped at her earlobe, softly, with only the barest graze of teeth.

“But what if he comes back and sees us?” Sansa asked worriedly, staring straight ahead, trying her best to ignore the warm, soft breast pressing into her shoulder, the hand that slipped in between the folds of her wrap dress above her breast, not touching any skin yet.

“I’m sure Lord Tyrion won’t mind,” Margaery replied, a smile colouring her voice pleasantly. “He is quite experienced himself, after all.”

“It’s different now, though,” Sansa insisted. She knew she must sound stubborn, but this was the first time they were together since she had been cloaked in Lannister red. It felt like she was lying all of a sudden. Which was a ridiculous thought itself, she knew that, their relationship had to be a secret from the start after all. She didn’t even want to think about what Cersei or Joffrey might do if they ever were to find out. Joffrey would surely twist it into something horrible to use against her in the worst way. She didn’t want to know what he would to her, to Margaery.

“I won’t tell if you won’t.” Margaery’s words thankfully broke her train of thought. She fit herself in the crook of Sansa’s neck, smiled against her cheek. Her fingers were wandering up her arm, one by one, small touches that left goose bumps. Margaery bracketed her chin between thumb and index finger to turn her face towards her own. “Come back to me, Sansa.”

“I’m sorry.” Sansa dropped her gaze.

“Don’t apologise, ever,” Margaery replied, ducking her head to look into her eyes, slightly shook her head, before she leaned in to kiss Sansa. Her lips were soft, so soft, as though she did little else but smile and exchange pleasantries at court. Sansa felt herself flush in more places than one. “It is the world that should be apologising,” Margaery said when she broke the kiss.

Sansa looked at her, the way her eyelashes fluttered just a little when she looked at her with those blue eyes, the way her cheeks dimpled when she smiled. Margaery had three smiles that she was aware of, one that dimpled only slightly, the one that hid her thorns, the one she used at court, for Cersei and Joffrey, the one that was overly big, the one she used in public appearances outside of court, the one she used when she wanted to make a good impression, and this one, the one that she reserved for her brother, her grandmother, and lately, for her, less big than the second and more genuine. Sansa didn’t know whether that was the one she had always gotten, she hadn’t known her face that well then. She brushed a dimple with her thumb. “Thank you,” she said softly.

“For what?” That smile again. This time, she could feel the heat flush straight down her body.

“For being here, for making King’s Landing bearable, for being _you_ ,” she said earnestly. It felt good to drop the mask, the armour, even if it was just for a while, even if it was just in the relative privacy of her chambers.

“Come here.” Margaery’s arms found their way around her, one hand resting at the small of her back, as she pulled Sansa even closer. Sansa leaned into Margaery’s touch where she cupped her cheek, tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, her own eyelids fluttering closed. “I want to take care of you,” she whispered, leaning close to her ear again. “Do you trust me?”

Sansa opened her eyes, turned her head toward Margaery, who leaned back to look at her. She immediately missed the closeness of another warm body, Margaery’s warm body, and the heat now puckering between her legs, as she considered. _Did_ she trust her? It was a loaded question and she had tried so hard to not let anyone else in anymore. Stupidly, she found that she did.

“I do,” she admitted quietly. The two words felt like a failure, and yet, she couldn’t bring herself to regret them.

“I want to try something.” Margaery got up off the sofa to walk over to where Sansa’s clothes were kept. She returned holding a sheer light blue silk scarf. She didn’t know who or where she’d got it from, just that she didn’t bring it with her from home. It was an impractical, thin piece of fabric, obviously not designed to keep the cold out. “If you’re ever uncomfortable and want me to stop, just say the word and I will stop immediately.”

Sansa could only nod, her entire body tingling with excitement. She’d heard of … things people sometimes did, and she’d like to pretend that she was shocked but the truth was she was only excited.

“I need to hear you say it, my darling,” Margaery said gently as she stepped closer to her, holding the scarf with both hands, as though she wanted her to see it.

“If I want you to stop, I will tell you to.” Sansa swallowed, looking up at Margaery. “I trust you.”

“Good. Thank you.” Margaery smiled and offered her hand. Sansa took it and let herself be drawn upwards. Her hand was touching the fabric of the scarf, and another tingle rushed through her body. Margaery squeezed her hand reassuringly and pressed a quick kiss on her skin, halfway between her mouth and cheek. “Let’s relocate this to the bed, yes?” She slowly walked her backwards towards it, still holding her hand with the one holding the scarf, the other on her hip to guide and stabilise her steps. The backs of her legs hit the bed. She made to sit down, but Margaery quietly shook her head. She stopped immediately, watching her face expectantly.

Margaery quickly undid the knots holding Sansa’s dress together at the front, pushing the fabric off her shoulders and let the dress pool to the floor. She suppressed the urge to cover up immediately when she was left only with her thin shift.

“We have two options here,” explained Margaery, fingers tracing over her arm again. “We can use this,” she held up the scarf, “to tie you to the bed.” She paused to let the idea sink in properly. The heat pulsating between her legs was back. “Or as a blindfold,” she added after a few quiet moments. Sansa thought the fabric was too thin to be properly used as a blindfold, but the thought still excited her. Maybe that was why Margaery had chosen this particular scarf, to get her used to the idea without actually completely blinding her. It showed she wanted to build up her trust. And yet …

Sansa swallowed to make sure she would get the sentence out. “I’d like you to tie me to the bed.” Her heart felt like it would beat out of her chest any moment. “Please,” she added hastily and immediately felt stupid. It must have shown on her face because a wide smile spread on Margaery’s face. “With pleasure,” she said simply, carefully, slowly taking her hands in her own, interlacing their fingers. The scarf dangled between them.

“You may sit down now.” Sansa did as she was told, without letting go of Margaery’s hands, forcing her to follow her down. “Just a second,” Margaery amended, letting go of Sansa’s hands. “Let’s get you out of this first.” She grabbed the hem of her shift, and unceremoniously pulled it over her head. Warm air hit Sansa’s now naked body and again, she suppressed the urge to cover up, catching herself in the motion and forcing herself to let her arms hang loosely by her sides.

Margaery bit her lip, smiling again. “Thank you. I like looking at you.” She raised a hand and lightly touched her breast. Sansa drew in a sharp breath. “We’re going to have fun tonight,” she promised, voice kept light and pleasant. “Now. Lay down on the bed. Up by the head, please.” The tone in her voice did not change.

Sansa steeled herself against the nerves that were surely about to overwhelm her and did as instructed. She moved towards the headboard and settled there, not really able to bring herself to lie down just yet.

Margaery had removed her dress, opening a few hidden clasps, clad only in a thin shift herself now, and now crawled over her, to stop on top of her, weight shifted to the side, and kissed her again. Her hand found her cheek, the fabric of the scarf rubbing against her skin, at the same time as her tongue slipped past her own lips. Sansa kissed her back, her hands coming up to Margaery’s face, cradling it in her hands, when Margaery pulled back. “We’ll have none of that, now.” She caught Sansa’s left hand with her own, the one holding the scarf, and brought it backwards towards the headboard. Sansa kept the other one somewhat awkwardly in the air between them. Margaery was still sitting to her left, with a leg thrown over her lap. Sansa moved back further to lean properly against the headboard. Margaery had told her to lie down, but she didn’t seem to mind, or at least she didn’t say anything to the contrary, when she took the other hand in her own, giving it a little squeeze, before she brought that backwards too. “This is not working as I wanted it to,” she said a few quiet moments spent fumbling later. “Move a little closer to the bedpost, please. You’ll have to lie down, I only brought the one scarf. We can do it sitting next time, if you enjoy this tonight.” Sansa almost overheard the word “brought,” but she realised that the move towards her clothes had been for show. When she had done as instructed, Margaery quickly managed to tie both her hands above her head to the bedpost. She shoved a pillow below her upper back for support. “Give it a few tugs, see if anything pinches, will you? I don’t want to hurt you.”

Sansa again did as instructed. If anything, it felt a little loose. She told Margaery so, but she only smiled at her. “That’s alright. I don’t want to start too tight, it will tighten a little on its own when you move a little. Just don’t try to wiggle out of it.” She rearranged her face into a scowl, with still a little dimple showing, as if to show her that Sansa was still in control of what exactly Margaery would be able to do to her. “It’s not about tying you down completely, not with something like this.” She caressed the part where the scarf met Sansa’s wrists. “It’s more about the illusion than anything else, to test the waters, so to speak.”

Sansa swallowed around the lump that was starting to build in her throat. “So there are … other ways to do this?”

Margaery brightened. “Of course! People do all sorts of things! But we’ll get to that when – if – we get to that. Relax and just enjoy this for the moment.”

You trust her, she reminded herself before nodding. Margaery knelt next to her, before bending down to caress her breast with one hand. Sansa felt goose bumps where the touch connected with her skin. Her eyelids fluttered but she forced herself to keep her eyes open and watch, to connect the sensation with seeing it. It was a kind of relief, a freeing sense of helplessness, to have her touch her, _being_ _touched_ , without being able to do anything in return.

Light fingertips ghosted over her skin, cupping her breast, moving in lazy motions around her breast, just the one closest to Margaery. Her thumb pressed carefully against her nipple, which responded immediately. Margaery chuckled softly, adding her index finger and lightly pinching. Sansa gasped, her arms bucking against the restraints. More heat between her legs. She felt herself starting to get wet, rubbing her legs together to gain some friction in what she hoped was a discreet manner.

“I see how it is. Someone seems to be enjoying herself,” Margaery said playfully, getting to her knees and bending over her to look down at her. “Do I need to do something about your legs next time?” Her whole world seemed to consist of Margaery’s face above hers, so it came as a shock when a hand came to rest on her mound, a finger quickly dipping between her folds, and withdrawing again just as quickly. A quiet moan escaped her lips. A light slap on her inner thigh, not to hurt, just to tell her to keep her legs apart. Sansa quickly did so, feeling her cheeks flush. “Well done, my lady,” Margaery praised, pressing the finger that was inside her for just a moment past Sansa’s lips. She could taste herself.

“You look beautiful like this,” Margaery purred, withdrawing the finger again, changing her position so that she was now astride bending down to press her lips against Sansa’s jugular. She was suddenly very aware of her own heart beating. Margaery peppered small butterfly kisses, interjected with short, fast licks, down her body, between her breasts. She cupped both of them, moving her thumbs in slow, slightly off circles. Sansa could only see the crown of her head as she looked down, and it was a little uncomfortable to strain herself like this to watch, so she let herself sink down on the pillow, moving her arms slightly to get into a more comfortable position.

A long, broad stroke of tongue against her breast sent another wave of heat down and settled somewhere in her stomach area where it spread further down. Sansa’s hips bucked of their own volition. “No need to be impatient, sweetling,” she murmured, nestled on her breastbone. “I’ll take care of you very soon.”

As though wanting to give her words credence, she went further down, carefully avoiding the lumpy scarred skin on her stomach, to press a single kiss atop her mound, directly above where the hair started. Her hands stroked her sides, down to her hips, one of them staying there, the other wandering further inward, two fingers dipping carefully between her folds, thumb stroking slowly over the nub full of nerves, a touch that sent a thousand tiny pinpricks through her entire body. Sansa gasped, squeezing her eyes shut, trying to move her arms to touch Margaery, any part of her. The scarf slipped just a bit over her hands. She rearranged her hands just a little so they felt more securely tied again, giving it a little tug in a different direction to tighten it.

Margaery watched her movements, fingers still and stilled within her, amusement playing on her face. She reached up, moving just a little to reach and tighten the scarf. After, she brushed her thumb against her cheek and twisted the fingers within her at the same moment. Sansa’s hips bucked up against Margaery’s hand, leg propped up for purchase. Margaery used that moment to spread her legs further apart to settle down between them.

“You’re so wonderfully wet. All just for me.” Margaery’s voice sounded thick, the only sign that betrayed her own arousal, and she lowered her head between Sansa’s legs. Sansa tried to shuffle up just a bit to watch her. Margaery wrapped her free arm around Sansa’s leg, hand on the part where leg and hip joined, her knee over her shoulder. She spread her lips with her fingers, added a third, started moving them, before her tongue flattened itself against her, directly licking the sensitive nub of nerves on the outside. This time, the moan that escaped her lips was deep and guttural, her leg kicking, wrists straining against the scarf. It held. The heat inside of her intensified at that. This feeling was the most intense she had ever felt, surely.

Margaery came up, a devilish twinkle in her eye. “Do you like that?” she asked innocently.

“Don’t. You Dare. Stop,” she managed between moans, her face pressed against her own arm, sounding rougher than she wanted to admit.

“You do look a bit flushed. You’re not embarrassed, are you?” She lightly, pretend carelessly started playing with that nerve bundle again.

Heat flushed her cheeks, and, she was sure, other parts. She felt nothing but her cheeks and those nerves, however.

“Make me come. Please,” she pleaded.

“As my lady wishes,” Margaery murmured, pleased, bending her head down again, her tongue entering her, slowly moving, exploring inside of her.

It didn’t take long after that, Margaery’s left hand was still stroking her leg absentmindedly, the right rubbing careful circles in the area around her mound. She always remembered that she didn’t like too much direct contact there. Her wrists strained against where Margaery’s scarf bound her as her body bucked under her climax.

 

***

Sansa climaxed quietly, moans muffled by her own arm thrown over her mouth out of sheer habit, her own fingers between her legs, bed linens and furs tangled, alone in her bed in Winterfell. Silent tears ran down her face as she remembered everything she had lost. The guilt of breathing while Margaery – wonderful, cheerful, caring Margaery – was nothing but ashes rarely caught up with her these days. But when it did, her heart felt like it would burst out of her chest. Then a wall of cold, steel armour built itself around her heart when she thought of everyone she would make suffer as she had, tenfold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The smut is completely contained within this chapter.  
> The next chapter is a scene from a [Jon/Tormund fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15413553/chapters/35773026) I wrote, told from Sansa’s point of view, where I imagine the two fics’ stories interlock with each other. If you’re interested in that, you can read it, if you’re not, I won’t be offended. :) It DOES add to Margaery's and Sansa's story too, though, so isn't completely random.  
> It seemed fair to put it as a bonus chapter, since it would feel tacked on and out of the blue otherwise.  
> Comments and constructive criticism are nonetheless appreciated. :)

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! :)
> 
> Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated.


End file.
